Hungarian Grand Prix 2006 Fernando Alonso
by seaturtles9
Summary: The Hungarian Grand Prix seen through Fernando Alonso's eyes... his emotions and passion felt during the race of all races - this was written for a school assignment English descriptive essay, that's why its a little random


Note:  I am a serious Fernando Alonso fan! :) But unfortunately I don't own him ...

_His Life (Hungary 2006)_

He has lost his mind. His savvy is pouring out like a silver essence or liquid metal, insanity is clear. He is dangerous yet devoted to his actions. Braking in front of another car, therefore blocking them is not a smart move. The other driver's fists are flying. He is obviously angry; he has lost time on his flying lap.

This will mean a time penalty in qualifying. The seconds are added like a mountain, weighing heavily on his shoulders. A setback already and it's only the first practise session.

But luck is on his side, for once. His greatest enemy fails to see the red flag, which means no overtaking, and therefore is also awarded a time penalty for overtaking two cars at once. The seconds are added like a mountain taking the weight of his shoulders, slightly.

During qualifying his electrifying speed saves his life from the back of the grid, and his lost seconds. He will start 15th in the race. Not bad, but there is a lot of hard fortitude needed to make up the places. But in his soul he believes that every cloud has a golden lining. He has one dream and one goal. There is one prize needed and that is to win. He has a golden glance of what should be and he needs one shaft of light to show the way. Unfortunately speed saves other lives as well. His greatest enemy and title contender landed up 11th on the starting grid.

Race day dawns. His smile is serene, his laugh is calm and he has an enigmatic air about him. His reflective sunglasses and golden shoes tell all that he is not afraid. He has the gallantry to push to the maximum. He places a force in the opponents thoughts that will make their minds bend. He knows that the connection between him and his Renault is some kind of magic. It has been a stormy weekend in more ways than one. The weather has taken a turn for the worst.

Red changes to green in an instant. As the lights go out he realises that the time is now. Rubber is split and smoke is released, but nothing is seen in the haze of the rain. The mist is closing in. His heart is in his stomach, the pit of his stomach. His spirit begins to race, as does his brain. He is hyperventilating and trying to catch his breath. Cutting off, swerving in. He is trying to take on the competition, him against the world. He has to get in the zone, but push it a bit to far and he could die in a minute. '_Let me see what you've got', _he thinks. '_Don't hesitate'_. When his is in his car, doing what he loves, he starts to believe that anything is possible. You cannot be a formula 1 driver if you aren't prepared to take it to the limit.

As the rain falls down and wakens his dreams and his powerful hunger for success, the numbers start to flash by, making their way to one. Every lap another one is overtaken. But he is not leading the race yet. He is jousting with the enemy as the wind lashes rain into his face and down his back, drenching every inch of the beast beneath his body, in his hands. He has control. Their speed is challenging the doors of time. '_I'm going to take you on, I'm going to break the cycle and I'm going to avoid the cliché'. _Red and white flashes before his eyes. Then, in a second, it is gone. He has overtaken the enemy who is now slipping rapidly behind. He is free and in the lead. He storms away from the pack, hunting for water on the track to stabilize the pressure in his tyres. The car feels just like it should. Smooth, like a tempest. There is little thought in his focused mind except for, '_There can be only one ... me.' _But_ o_thers are catching the calmness.

Underneath his helmet, his hard black eyebrows frame his delicate moss-coloured eyes that contain a glint so commanding, many would crumble under their gaze. There is pressure being applied to him, the terror of knowing what this sport is about. He is almost there, almost at the finish line. His soul has been stripped bare by the hard composure that the race demands. He feels adrenalin running from the tip of his toes through his veins. He knows that this is his race and a flame burns inside him telling him to push it till the end.

But as metal flies, dreams fly. They fly away never to be seen again. Spinning, the world is spinning away from his fingertips. Every second that ticks by, as his drive shaft breaks, bits of the golden dream are lost. He knows now that every second counts and that everything he worked so hard for is lost. He his feeling the thunder as a scream wells up in his throat. Tears are streaming down his heart, yet his face is calm.

His enemy is struck down, again out of pure luck. The enemy's fate assumed as he limps off, blood pouring from his soul.

The purpose of his life that day was to win. He and his faithful beast did win, in a way. Although no points were gained, none were lost. The purpose of his life everyday is to win, to be the best, which he is. Fernando Alonso is King ... for the time being ...


End file.
